


Not a Man

by Mawgon



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demisexuality, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7779127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgon/pseuds/Mawgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Riders of Rohan ride to war, Faramir meets up with them to summon them to Gondor's aid.  Among the Rohirrim is the mysterious Dernhelm, to whom Faramir feels himself drawn in a way that he is rather sure he should not feel attracted to another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After riding to Rohan in the hopes of securing the Rohirrim’s aid in the war and learning that the heir to the throne of Gondor had already managed to do that, Faramir felt rather useless. 

Moreover, he was confused as to what his station was now – as son of the ruling Steward of Gondor, he would have been more or less the equal of Rohan’s king. Now that a heir to the throne had turned up, this was not so clear anymore. The man must be legitimate, as no one would dare to travel the Paths of the Dead unless he were the true heir of Elendil. 

How, then, should he carry himself? How talk to King Théoden? 

He had to know what kind of man this Aragorn, son of Arathorn was, before he made any decision on whether to acknowledge him or oppose him. 

So Faramir had decided to leave the King’s tent as fast as politeness allowed, mingle with the common men and disguise his identity, to avoid being asked his opinion on Elendil’s heir.

It was not working so well. They might not be able to tell that he was Faramir, but they could still tell that he was not one of them. Their crude manners offended his sensibilities, and while he did his best to tolerate it, he found no rest among them, and it wearied him to pretend to laugh at their rude jokes. The Rohirric accent made it hard to follow conversations, and the glares he got for his lack of such an accent weren’t exactly comfortable, either. 

He had just wandered away from yet another group of men who seemed to know no other pastime than drinking too much, when he saw a lone campfire at the very edge of the camp. There were only two men there, and they were quiet. Perhaps ...

When he came closer, they fell silent and stared at him. This was a reaction he had gotten often that day, yet this time, it seemed different. There was no hostility in those glances. 

Finally, the taller one stood up. “What brings you here, Lord Faramir?”

So much for his plan to go unrecognized. This one was not a commoner, there was only a trace of Rohan accent in his voice, and his manners were gentler by far than those of the other Riders.

“A need for company. May I sit at your fire?”

“You may, if you wish. There is no need for those formalities, my Lord, we are commoners.” 

The whole way the words were spoken belied that claim, but Faramir decided to not comment on it. After all, he had intended to do the same, and perhaps some noble trying to pass for a commoner was the best company to keep right now. 

He sat down next to the fire. “May I ask your names, seeing as you already know mine?”

“Call me Dernhelm.”

The smaller one smiled up at him. “I’m Merry.”

“A pleasure to meet you”, Faramir said, deciding to return to the manners he was most comfortable with. 

“The pleasure is all ours”, Merry replied. 

That made two of them who certainly were everything but common Riders of Rohan. Merry did not even have the trace of a Rohan accent, but a different one that Faramir could not place. His soft way of pronouncing the words seemed altogether alien, though not unpleasant. 

If there way anyone to whom Faramir could talk of Elendil’s heir without word getting back to King Théoden, it probably was those two.

“I have heard”, he said, as casually as he could “That Elendil’s heir has returned, and at this moment walks the Paths of the Dead.”

He could not have wished for a better source of information. Dernhelm knew a great deal about Aragorn, and talked without hesitation. 

It was obvious that Dernhelm had rather passionate feelings on the topic. Aragorn was noble, valiant and true, he would return Gondor to greatness, and, most certainly, survive the perilous journey ... though Faramir noticed that Dernhelm was a bit worried about that last part. 

Apparently he had found himself a rather biased informant. 

“What do you think, Merry? Is the heir of Elendil all that Dernhelm makes him out to be?”

The smaller man – or rather, boy - shrugged. “I could not say it so, so poetry-like as Dernhelm does, and Aragorn doesn’t seem all that high and mighty to me, but it is all true. He does have flaws, though.”

“He does?”

“He thinks one breakfast a day is enough!”

Dernhelm laughed. Not the loud, bellowing laugh Faramir had heard elsewhere in the camp, but a rather pleasant, dignified laughter. He would not have minded hearing it again. 

“Merry is a halfling”, Dernhelm explained. “A hobbit, in their language. They have quite a large number of meals in a day, and while Merry here has gone without most of them without complaining, he cannot abide someone not acknowledging the sacrifice that is.”

Faramir found himself grinning. So that was why Merry was so small – a halfling! He had thought them mythical beings, but now he could see plainly that this was no human boy. The pointed ears, for one, the curly hair on the feet that were placed in the light of the campfire – he couldn’t fathom how he had overlooked them earlier. 

The conversation had eased his discomfort considerably. If he found no evidence to the contrary, he would acknowledge Aragorn, son of Arathorn, as the true heir to the throne, and that was that. “You admire Aragorn a great deal”, he said carefully. If he could discover why that was so, he would have another hint as to whether Dernhelm’s estimation was correct, or no. 

Dernhelm froze. His gaze was that of a hunted animal all of a sudden. No man trying to portray his lord in a better light than was deserved would react thusly. No, Faramir decided, the praise of Aragorn had been sincere. There was something entirely different behind this. 

“Admiring a great man is nothing to be ashamed of”, he said gently. “If every man looked for, and followed the worthy example of a man such as you describe Aragorn to be, this world would be a better place.”

Dernhelm avoided his gaze. “Maybe”, he replied. “Yet it is ...”

“Childish, you think, to strive to be like one you admire?”

The young man nodded. “I ... could never be like him.”

“Perhaps not”, Faramir agreed. “My brother was a great soldier, and I am not half as good as he at the art of war. But there are things I am better at. If you strive to be valiant and true, I should think that is enough, though you might never be as good a fighter.”

Dernhelm now looked at him again, having forgotten all about his embarrassment. “I have heard of the passing of your brother Boromir, and I would offer my heartfelt sympathy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir rode next to Dernhelm and Merry the following day, and shared their campfire at night, even though talking to King Théoden was not so difficult anymore now that he had made up his mind about Elendil’s heir. 

He liked Merry’s tales of the Shire, and the halfling’s practical attitude to life, but if he was honest with himself, it was Dernhelm whose company he sought out most. 

There was a hidden sadness in the young man that Faramir longed to ease, but it was not just compassion, neither his own nor that which the Rider generously gave for his own grief, that drew him to Dernhelm.   
He found himself composing poetry in his mind, on the way Dernhelm laughed, on how the firelight reflected in his eyes, on the warmth of Dernhelm’s hand on his shoulder when he had talked of Boromir. 

Faramir was not the kind of man who shut his feelings away, he was one who pondered them and sought to find their cause. 

Thus he discovered, much faster than any other might have, that he was in love with Dernhelm. 

It was a discovery that made Faramir very uncomfortable. Forever had his father accused him of not being enough of a man, and forever had Faramir tried to prove that, for all that he did not love weapons and warfare, he was still as much of a man as any other. 

And now, his foolish heart had gone and made him fall in love with a man. Like a maiden.

 

A different man may have resented Dernhelm for the unwelcome feelings he had caused. Faramir did not do so, yet it was hard to hide his distress. 

And so, in the evening, when Merry had gone to sleep, Dernhelm looked at him with concern. “Well do I know that you have reason to grieve, Lord Faramir, yet now it seems you are at war with yourself. Pray tell me the cause of your distress, so that I may help ease it.”

Faramir had no choice but to tell part of the truth – the disdain of his father, he thought, would be explanation enough. 

And it might have been, had Faramir not flinched when Dernhelm placed a comforting hand on his arm. 

“It is an old wound”, the Rider murmured. “And yet it pains you now. What have I done to cause it to open again?”

“Needing comfort is a mark of weakness”, Faramir replied, hoping to disguise the truth without lying outright. 

“That is a foolish notion”, Dernhelm said. “As you well know. And it did not trouble you the evening we first met. Why now?”

Perhaps it was better to tell another piece of truth, and hope that Dernhelm would be content with it. “What would you think, Dernhelm, of a man who does like a maiden does, and swoons for a warrior?”

Dernhelm’s eyes widened, and he did not speak for a long time. “The Lady Éowyn whom we left behind in Edoras happens to be a maiden”, he said at last. “Would you think less of her for it?”

Éowyn, Eomer’s sister. He had spoken highly of her. “I would not.” Why was it only now that he realized that all those insults and accusations that so troubled him depended on it being a bad thing to be a maiden, to have any power behind them? 

“Then why think less of yourself?”

“The Lady Éowyn would be loved back by any man she set her eyes on.” If his feelings were not wrong, then at the very least, they were hopeless. 

“Any man but Aragorn, son of Arathorn. In this, she has been as foolish as you.” Dernhelm gazed into his eyes as if to read his thoughts. “Who is it that holds your heart, friend?   
The man’s voice trembled, he did not truly wish to know the answer. Of course not. “It is like you fear”, Faramir replied quietly. 

“Eomer, then?”

Faramir was startled. “Not him.” Though it was not far off. There was some resemblance between Eomer and Dernhelm; and it had confirmed Faramir’s suspicions that Dernhelm must be somehow of noble birth. Perhaps a bastard whose mother had fallen into disgrace? 

“You have scarcely spoken to anyone else, save Theoden, and I do not think ...”

“I have oft spoken to you, Dernhelm.”

“Me?” Something flickered in Dernhelm’s eyes, shock, perhaps. 

“You.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he expected to: disgust, pity if he was lucky.

“Oh Faramir.” Dernhelm sighed. “I cannot give you what you wish for, I am not ... not a man whose desire is for men. Let us be friends until the last battle, and then, we shall see what becomes of us – if we live to see the end of it.”

 

They talked long into the night, and Faramir discovered that among the Rohirrim it was a matter of course that shieldbrothers would lie with each other. “To speak of love ...” Dernhelm said, sadness in his voice “That oftentimes means that one will never wish to marry a woman. Is that so with you, Faramir?”

“I ...” Was it? “I fear it might be so, for I never felt for any woman what I feel for you.” Not for any man, either, but then, he had never met anyone quite like Dernhelm.

“This is a cruel fate”, Dernhelm said, and Faramir was not quite sure whether it was his fate that was meant, or Dernhelm’s. 

Even so, Faramir was comforted, for while he was sad, he was no longer at war with himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Faramir rode next to Dernhelm and Merry the following day, and shared their campfire at night, even though talking to King Théoden was not so difficult anymore now that he had made up his mind about Elendil’s heir. 

He liked Merry’s tales of the Shire, and the halfling’s practical attitude to life, but if he was honest with himself, it was Dernhelm whose company he sought out most. 

There was a hidden sadness in the young man that Faramir longed to ease, but it was not just compassion, neither his own nor that which the Rider generously gave for his own grief, that drew him to Dernhelm.   
He found himself composing poetry in his mind, on the way Dernhelm laughed, on how the firelight reflected in his eyes, on the warmth of Dernhelm’s hand on his shoulder when he had talked of Boromir. 

Faramir was not the kind of man who shut his feelings away, he was one who pondered them and sought to find their cause. 

Thus he discovered, much faster than any other might have, that he was in love with Dernhelm. 

It was a discovery thatgave Faramir much discomfort. Forever had his father accused him of not being enough of a man, and forever had Faramir tried to prove that, for all that he did not love weapons and warfare, he was still as good a soldier, and as much of a man, as any other. 

And now, his foolish heart had gone and made him fall in love with a man. Like a maiden.

 

A different man may have resented Dernhelm for the unwelcome feelings he had caused. Faramir did not do so, yet it was hard to hide his distress. 

And so, in the evening, when Merry had gone to sleep, Dernhelm looked at him with concern. “Well do I know that you have reason to grieve, Lord Faramir, yet now it seems you are at war with yourself. Pray tell me the cause of your distress, so that I may help ease it.”

Faramir had no choice but to tell part of the truth – the disdain of his father, he thought, would be explanation enough. 

And it might have been, had Faramir not flinched when Dernhelm placed a comforting hand on his arm. 

“It is an old wound”, the Rider murmured. “And yet it pains you now. What have I done to cause it to open again?”

“Needing comfort is a mark of weakness”, Faramir replied, hoping to disguise the truth without lying outright. 

“That is a foolish notion”, Dernhelm said. “As you well know. And it did not trouble you the evening we first met. Why now?”

Perhaps it was better to tell another piece of truth, and hope that Dernhelm would be content with it. “What would you think, Dernhelm, of a man who does like a maiden does, and swoons for a warrior?”

Dernhelm’s eyes widened, and he did not speak for a long time. “The Lady Éowyn whom we left behind in Edoras happens to be a maiden”, he said at last. “Would you think less of her for it?”

Éowyn, Eomer’s sister. He had spoken highly of her. “I would not.” Why was it only now that he realized that all those insults and accusations that so troubled him depended on it being a bad thing to be a maiden, to have any power behind them? 

“Then why think less of yourself?”

“The Lady Éowyn would be loved back by any man she set her eyes on.” If his feelings were not wrong, then at the very least, they were hopeless. 

“Any man but Aragorn, son of Arathorn. In this, she has been as foolish as you.” Dernhelm gazed into his eyes as if to read his thoughts. “Who is it that holds your heart, friend?   
The man’s voice trembled, he did not truly wish to know the answer. Of course not. “It is like you fear”, Faramir replied quietly. 

“Eomer, then?”

Faramir was startled. “Not him.” Though it was not far off. There was some resemblance between Eomer and Dernhelm; and it had confirmed Faramir’s suspicions that Dernhelm must be somehow of noble birth. Perhaps a bastard whose mother had fallen into disgrace? 

“You have scarcely spoken to anyone else, save Theoden, and I do not think ...”

“I have oft spoken to you, Dernhelm.”

“Me?” Something flickered in Dernhelm’s eyes, shock, perhaps. 

“You.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he expected to: disgust, pity if he was lucky.

“Oh Faramir.” Dernhelm sighed. “I cannot give you what you wish for, I am not ... not a man whose desire is for men. Let us be friends until the last battle, and then, we shall see what becomes of us – if we live to see the end of it.”

 

They talked long into the night, and Faramir discovered that among the Rohirrim it was a matter of course that shieldbrothers would lie with each other. “To speak of love ...” Dernhelm said, sadness in his voice “That oftentimes means that one will never wish to marry a woman. Is that so with you, Faramir?”

“I ...” Was it? “I fear it might be so, for I never felt for any woman what I feel for you.” Not for any man, either, but then, he had never met anyone quite like Dernhelm.

“This is a cruel fate”, Dernhelm said, and Faramir was not quite sure whether it was his fate that was meant, or Dernhelm’s, for it seemed that their talk had awoken that hidden grief Dernhelm was carrying. 

Even so, Faramir was comforted, for while he knew his love would never be requited, he was no longer at war with himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Faramir felt like his blood had been turned to ice when he heard the Nazgul speak to Dernhelm, threaten him. In the midst of a raging battle, he could not come to Dernhelm’s aid immediately, and moments later, it might be already to late. 

“I am no man.” 

That declaration greatly startled Faramir, but he was enough of a soldier to fight on while Dernhelm declared that he – she! – was Éowyn. 

The very lady they had talked about! Faramir laughed even as he fought for his life. He had once expressed a wish to meet the Lady Éowyn. To think that it had come true without him knowing!

What a woman!

That was about his last thought before a blow to the head made him lose consciousness. When he awoke, he found himself in a room in the houses of healing. It was a room where apparently all the wounded had been taken, and as he looked over the crowd, he could not find anyone with Dernhelm’s golden hair there. 

A healer noticed that he had woken, walked over to speak to him, and Faramir could hear the panic in his own voice as he asked: “What of the Rohirrim? Are their wounded not here?”

“They are. Is there one in specific that you wish to see my lord?”

“Dernhelm? Slender, grey eyes, fair hair?”

“I cannot recall such a man”, the healer replied. “Though of course, many are not in a state to introduce themselves. How do you feel, my lord? Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes, yes, I am well. Now, what of ... have you heard of a Lady Éowyn?”

“Lady Éowyn? She who has slain the witch-king? Oh, she is in a room of her own, and Ioreth tends to her.”

With a relieved sigh, Faramir sank back into his bed. “She lives? Good. The small man who was with her, Merry, have you heard what became of him?”

“He was wounded, too, and has not woken. We had him brought to a separate room, by the orders of one Aragorn, son of Arathorn – I hope this meets your approval, my lord? Aragorn did also ask for kingsfoil, and seems to think he could use it to awaken the halfling, and the Lady Éowyn. We are not quite sure what to make of him.”

“Yes, yes, that’s quite alright, though you should ask my father.” Denethor was a proud man and would not be happy to have his authority undermined by a would-be king, true heir or no.

The healer did not answer immediately, and Faramir saw the reason why clearly on his face. “He is dead, is he not?”

“I am sorry, my lord. I should -”

“Do not be. It is not a time to be considerate of my feelings.” Many had died, and many still would. No doubt many had heard the bad news in a worse way. “Did he die in battle?” 

“Yes. He ... he fell ere you arrived here with the main host of the Rohirrim. You could not have saved him.”

That was some comfort. At least they had parted on amiable terms, as had become rare enough these past few years. “Thank you. As for Aragorn, go along with his requests if they are reasonable – or even if they seem mad, as long as they do no harm.”

“Thank you, my lord. Now that you have woken, we can move you to a private room – I just did not want you to be alone when you woke.”

“There is no need, I am well enough to get up.” There was a headache, but that was almost nothing in comparison to other wounds he had had. 

“You are not. Your helmet saved your life, but you were unconscious for far too long. You need to stay in bed for a week.”

“A week!”

He would have liked to protest, but the healer was called away to tend to a wound that was beyond the apprentices’ skills, leaving Faramir alone. 

If he was honest with himself, he noticed some dizzyness, and the only thing he remembered was the reveal that Dernhelm was Éowyn ... or perhaps that was not true, and he had only dreamt it? What if Dernhelm had died? 

His brother, Faramir thought sadly, would no doubt have gotten up to find out. But he himself was more prone to listening to the advice of healers. The fact that he wanted to close his eyes to shut out the light was proof enough that he was not entirely well. If the healer said he should rest, then rest he would, for he would be no use on the battlefield with a damaged brain. 

After falling asleep and waking again, Faramir saw an Elf. He wore simple traveling garb, but there was no doubt. The long hair that seemed untouched by dirt or tangles, the slight build and the supernatural grace with which the creature moved ... strange, the dreams that this head wound produced. What would an Elf, and a perfectly healthy one at that, do in the houses of healing?

“Excuse me”, the Elf addressed him. “Can you tell me where to find the Lord Faramir?”

“You have found him.”

“That is well. The Lady Éowyn bade me look for you, and bring you to her, if you are well enough to walk.”

“The healer says I should stay in bed, though he also did offer to take me to a private room.” If he was well enough to be moved, then surely, he was well enough for a small walk to a different room? Besides, had they not moved him away from the battlefield already, without doing much harm? “How is the Lady?”

“Aragorn was able to heal her from the black breath, but she is very agitated. She will not rest until she has spoken to you.”

“Then I need to go.” Sitting up caused a bout of nausea, and also caused him to notice that he was not wearing many clothes. Apparently the healers had stripped him of everything to discover any hidden wounds that might be on his body, and had then only put his shirt back on. “Would you help me with my clothes?”

“They are very dirty.”

He did not doubt that. “I cannot appear before a lady in this attire.”

The Elf raised his eyebrows. “Does your shirt not cover all the parts Men consider in need of being covered?” 

Did Elves not consider them in need of being covered, then? “Well, the parts that are, so to speak, in most need of being covered, but it only goes to my knees.”

“Do you think she has never seen a man’s legs?”

Faramir blinked. He had no idea, but by rights, she should not have – except, perhaps, in caring for her uncle while he was bedridden ...

“I am rather sure she has seen way more of a lot of men’s bodies than you assume.”

“Is that an insult to her honour?” He felt a bit dizzy. Getting angry was not good for him right now. 

“No – just a reference to the fact that I saw the Men in Rohan spar without their shirts on.”

“Not while the Lady watched, surely?”

“She sparred with them.”

Faramir had to lie down, and when his eyes focused again, he saw a concerned expression on the Elf’s face. “The Lady kept her shirt on. Is that a comfort?”

“I ... I would not have expected otherwise.”

The Elf inclined his head. “I admit to have only superficial understanding of your people’s notions of propriety. It can be rather confusing. I am sorry if I have given offense.”

“Would you show yourself to a lady in a state of undress?” The view might not be quite so unpleasant as that of an unclothed Man, as Faramir could not imagine an Elf being anything less than perfect, but it certainly was not ... appropriate. 

“Only when doing so would be ... reasonable”, the Elf replied. “In my opinion, you are well dressed for the occasion, being confined to bed. Would it help if I borrowed you my cloak? That will take less time than dressing fully.”

“I ... I suppose that might ... yes. Thank you.”

The Elf took off his cloak, draped it around Faramir’s shoulders and fastened it at the front with a beautiful brooch in the shape of a leaf. “There. She will not see your legs.”

When Faramir just tried to stand up, the healer in charge hurried over. “You are not allowed out of bed”, he stated firmly. “My lord”, he added like an afterthought. 

“Would it be so harmful to move him?”, the Elf inquired. “I can carry him. The Lady Éowyn wishes to see him.”

The healer stared at them both. “You should not exert yourself, my lord. If you would let the Elf carry you, it might not be too harmful – your room is prepared, and I expect that you will be carried there immediately after that visit.”

“Tell me where, and I shall deliver him promptly.” The Elf’s face was motionless, but there was a twinkle of humour in his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Faramir dearly hoped that everyone in the room was too severely wounded, or too busy with tending to the wounded, to pay much attention. There was dignity, and there was courtesy. The latter was clearly more important, especially when concerning a Lady of such ... such importance, but it still hurt his pride. 

On the other hand, it was impressive with which ease the Elf carried him, not on his back or shoulders, but in his arms, like a child. Never would Faramir have suspected that there was so much strength in those slender arms. 

“Have we been introduced”, he asked as the Elf set him down in front of a door that Faramir knew led to one of the rooms separated off the main hall. 

“We have not. Forgive me, I forgot it in the hurry. I am Legolas.”

Son of Thranduil, King of Greenwood, Faramir’s mind supplied. Dernhelm had talked of the Elven prince. 

“It is a pleasure to ...” Faramir forgot to finish the sentence, as the door was opened from inside, and his gaze fell on the bed taking up most of the space in the room. Or, more precisely, the person in the bed. 

It was Dernhelm – and at the same time, not. Faramir had never seen his friend’s face looking so open and vulnerable ... or perhaps, only in the flickering light of a campfire. During the day, Dernhelm had always worn a helmet, and his jaw had been tensed. 

The familiar golden hair framed a face that, now that Faramir knew the truth, seemed rather obviously that of a very beautiful woman. What tricks the mind could play! He had expected a man, and thus, seen a man. 

“Faramir! I am glad to see you! Lord Legolas, you have my thanks for finding him. Éomer, would you leave us alone for some few moments? I have something to say to Faramir that is not for anyone’s ears but his.”

Only then did Faramir notice the man sitting at the bedside. Éomer rose. “I will not leave my sister alone with a stranger.”

“You did oft leave me alone with Wormtongue.” There was bitterness in her voice. 

“Éowyn, sister!” cried Éomer. “You know as well as I that I had no choice, our uncle trusted him. What has he done to you?”

“No more than what you already know. I can defend myself. And this is no stranger. You know Lord Faramir.”

“Well do I know his rank. The more reason to be cautious! You can, perhaps, defend yourself, even with your shield arm broken, against assault, but what would you do should he use his power to ... no, I shall speak no more. It is not proper to leave you alone with him.”

“Yes, speak no further. Would you cause a war with Gondor, by insulting him with such implications?!”

Faramir felt a bout of dizzyness oncoming. “Peace. I would not be the cause of a strife between siblings. I am sure your brother can hear all you have to say to me, Lady Éowyn.” What must Éomer think of her strange request? “Though it would pain me to have the secrets I told you revealed to one I know not as well as my friend Dernhelm, it seems it cannot be helped.” He steadied himself with a hand against the doorframe, using the other to keep the Elf’s cloak closed around his legs. 

“Oh! I should have offered you a seat”, Éowyn cried out. “Come here, sit on the bedside if my brother will not give up his chair for you. Éomer, can you not see that he can barely stand?”

Suddenly, Éomer stood next to him, and Faramir gratefully took the arm offered to him and allowed himself to be led to the chair at the bedside. 

“I will return when it suits me, see to it that you do nothing you would not want to be caught doing”, Éomer said, then left the room closing the door behind him. 

Éowyn smiled wearily. “This is his way of saying that he regrets having distrusted you. Faramir.” 

He did not speak, for it seemed she meant to continue when she had put her thoughts in order. 

“I owe you an apology. It was cruel, when you were so distressed, not to reveal the truth to you.”

Faramir thought about it, briefly, and found that he did not agree. “Cruel in that moment, perhaps. Yet I find that your words gave me greater peace of mind than the truth might have.” It was all so easy now, he had gained so much insight. Never again would he be hurt by the insinuation that he was not enough of a man. How could he be insulted at the implication that he was, in any way, like Éowyn? It would be a compliment. 

“Maybe.” Her voice was still tinged with sadness. “Still, I deceived you, for my own selfish goals.”

“You rode to battle to protect your kin. I cannot call that selfish. Also, do you not think your brother would rather have that Dernhelm held and comforted Faramir, next to a lone campfire in the darkness, than that Éowyn would have done the same?”

“That is true”, she said quietly. “And also, that perhaps, Éowyn thought it safer. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” They had been strangers, perhaps still were. What had he done to deserve her trust? Nothing, yet she trusted him enough to be alone with him when her brother did not deem it safe. 

She could defend herself, she had said, and indeed, she was sitting up in bed. Her shield arm, however, was broken, and her sword arm hung limp at her side. 

“What of your wounds?”, he asked. “Will they heal?” It must be distressing to a shieldmaiden to not be able to hold shield, nor sword. 

“In time.” She sighed. “I will be confined to the Houses of Healing for at least a week. And you? You seem uninjured, yet you are not steady on your legs.”

“A blow to the head, I think, though I have no recollection of how it happened. I feel dizzy at times.”

“Oh! Do you not see how selfish I am, now? To ask for you to be brought here so that I could ask your forgiveness, when you should stay in bed.”

“I feel well enough sitting here.”


	6. Chapter 6

The door was suddenly opened by Ioreth, closely followed by Éomer and Legolas. 

Ioreth was at his side in an instant, seized his face and stared into his eyes. “Well. How much do you remember from before you lost consciousness?”

“Only Dernhelm’s speech.” And it was well worth remembering. 

“Not much time can have passed after that, for he was close to me in battle and the enemy fled when their leader was defeated”, Éowyn said. 

“Good. How do you feel?” 

Faramir admitted to the dizzyness and nausea, knowing she would guess anyway. 

“Prince Legolas, I believed you promised to deliver Lord Faramir to the room prepared for him.”

“So I did, and I shall gladly keep my promise.” The Elf-lord took Faramir’s arm, helped him walk through the room, and waited until the door had closed before he lifted him up again. “If you would not mind satisfying an Elf’s curiosity – why was Éomer so upset when Éowyn wanted to be alone with you?”

“You do not know?”

“No. Oh, I was taught what is considered proper, and what is not, at the courts of Men, so that I would not give offense, but I do not understand why he would get so agitated about propriety under such extraordinary circumstances. It seemed to me that he somehow distrusted you, though you clearly never gave anyone reason to suspect you might want to harm Lady Éowyn.”

“This is ... complicated.” 

Faramir was much relieved when he was set down on a soft bed, and the world stopped moving, and there was gentle twilight in the room instead of the blazing sun. 

“Then I shall ask someone else, as you should not exert yourself.” Legolas unfastened the brooch that held the cloak around Faramir’s shoulders, removed it, and replaced it with the blanket on the bed. “The healers here are quite stern. Remind me of ...”

As Legolas recounted his experiences with Elven healers, who apparently were quite similar in that respect, Faramir slowly dozed off. 

 

When he woke, there was a stranger sitting next to his bed. 

“I don’t believe we have met?”, he asked, cautiously. What if he had actually forgotten more than just the last few moments before he was hit on the head? This was certainly not a healer, and despite the clothes, which were those of a simple ranger, Faramir had a feeling that the stranger was somewhat more than that. 

“Indeed, we have not. Call me Strider.”

“I am Faramir, but I believe you already know?”

The stranger nodded. “When I asked to talk to the one who is in charge of this city, I was led to you.”

He must be someone of some importance, then, Faramir concluded. “If you are here to ask for a favour, I am afraid I cannot do much for you. As of yet, I have not officially taken my father’s place as Steward, and it seems I will never be ruling Gondor in any case.”

“So it seems.” Strider scrutinized him. “You seem unaffected by those facts, though you are aware of them. Are you not worried about this claimer to the throne?”

Faramir closed his eyes, the dim light in the room was still a bit much. “It is all too much at once. A good steward, I suppose, should be worried for the safety of his people. However, as of now, Aragorn, Arathorn’s son has helped fight our common enemy, and saved one most dear to me from the brink of death. I have reason to be grateful to him, and the only thing I know against him is that he does not appreciates second breakfast as much as he should.” Faramir smiled at the thought of Merry’s emphasis on this. “If, on meeting him in person, I find him everything he is made out to be, I shall not oppose his claim. I never expected to rule, and though the loss of my rank will have its disadvantages, I do think the state of my poor head is more worrying.”

“Those disadvantages cannot be very important, then.”

“That, we will see. If the new king, as would be within his rights, makes another one his Steward, one whom he knows and trusts, I would not quite know what to do with myself. And there is a very dear friend of mine who would not much outrank me if I was to be Ruling Steward, but would be quite above me if I was to be a common soldier. While I am sure she would not mind at all, there may be some who would not deem it proper for her to associate with me, if ...” He paused. “I am rambling. Forgive me. I took a blow to the head, and am not quite recovered.”

“Then forgive me, for delaying the rest you need. Thank you, Lord Faramir.” Strider got up and left. 

Alone in the dimly lit room, Faramir realized that the man had not actually asked for any favours, and felt that he was missing something very important. 

And why would the healers, who were very loyal and worried for his safety, let a stranger into this room? 

He did not dwell on it, as memories of Dernhelm, of Éowyn, came to mind, and dwelling on those was just so much more soothing. How she had defended him against her brother, her trust, her kindness, the way the light reflected on her hair ...


	7. Chapter 7

When one of the apprentice healers brought food, Faramir asked about his visitor. 

“Oh! My Lord, did you not say to do as he asks, if there be no apparent harm in his requests?”

Faramir closed his eyes. Of course! It all made sense. “He told me his name was Strider, but in truth, he was Aragorn, was he not?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Then the fault is his, for not introducing himself properly.” And of course, this had been wholly intentional. He could only hope the man would not hold Faramir’s incoherent ramblings against him. 

“Thank you, my Lord. What do you wish us to do about him in the future?”

“Just keep me informed. Where is he now?”

“He has left to challenge the enemy at the Black Gate.”

“Good. I wish to speak to him when he returns.” 

There was nothing good about that, of course. Attacking the Black Gate was as good as suicide. And he should probably have phrased that differently. If he returned at all ... yet somehow, Faramir could not accept so easily that all hope shold be lost. 

 

The first days of recovery were almost unbearably boring. The healers advised even against reading, claiming it would strain his eyes and mind too much. 

He was not sure how much time had passed – three days, perhaps – when Ioreth entered the room, bringing with her one of the manservants of Denethor’s household. 

“The Lady Éowyn wishes to pay you a visit, my Lord Faramir. I presume you want to see her?”

Éowyn! “Of course I want to – it gladdens my heart that she is well enough to be allowed out of bed!”

“I thought so, my Lord. Send word when you are ready to meet her.”

 

Some time later, Faramir was washed, shaven, and wearing a freshly laundered shirt and tunic.

“I can comb my own hair”, he weakly protested as the servant started doing it for him. 

“The healers wish that you move as little as possible, my Lord.”

Well, then. At least he would look somewhat presentable when Éowyn visited. He probably should be grateful that he had been allowed to have his hair washed. 

 

When finally, Éowyn entered the room, she was accompanied by Ioreth, who did not seem like she intended to leave anytime soon. 

“Lord Faramir” Éowyn bowed her head. “I am glad to see you in as good health as might be expected.”

“And I am glad that you are up. Do you have the use of your sword arm back?” He could only see that her other arm was in a sling. 

“It was affected by the black breath and only feels somewhat numb.” She lifted it, slowly, to demonstrate. “The healers tell me that I will recover fully, but that there is no hope for me to be of any use on the battlefield anytime soon.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “There is nothing to be done about it. There was a time when I might have dragged myself back to battle with a broken shield arm, but now ... I would rather not. I shall simply have to bide my time until I am fully recovered.”

“You are bored”, he concluded. “Perhaps I can help with that. Do you like to read?”

“I cannot say. There are not many books in Rohan.”

“There are quite a lot of them in Gondor. I shall see to it that a selection of the ones I own is brought to you.” 

She thanked him, and they fell silent. There was much Faramir would like to say to her, but it did not feel right to offer condolences for the death of her uncle with Ioreth in the room. Or mention his conversation with “Strider”. 

“How do you feel about being confined to bed?”

“It is alright, I was never as much of a warrior as you, and would be perfectly content if I was but allowed to read. Your visit greatly lifts my spirits.” He should, perhaps, feel worse. Unrequited love was something said to be very painful. Maybe Dernhelm’s words had not fully sunken in? According to some, the full pain would only set in when he saw his love married to another. Yet he found that even this prospect did not mar his enjoyment of her company.


	8. Chapter 8

Éowyn visited the next day, too, and the day afterwards, and they spoke of the progress of battles, of their recovery and of some books Éowyn had read in the meantime. 

And then, finally, the day had come when Faramir was allowed out of bed. He sent word to Éowyn that he would walk in the gardens, and would be glad of her company. 

She met him at the door. “Are you quite well?”, she inquired. “Here, take my arm, just in case.”

Her sword arm was now almost recovered, and Faramir gladly took it, though he did not feel dizzy anymore. 

“I do hope Éomer lives still”, she suddenly said as they walked among evergreen shrubs. “The death of my uncle, I can bear, as he has in truth been long dead, in a way ... it must sound cold and unfeeling, but ...”

“No, I understand what you mean.” From what Dernhelm had told him, Theoden had been not quite himself for quite some time, weak and sickly, and affected in his mind, also, until the wizard had come and broken the spell. “When he rode to battle, he wanted to die, he had given up life already.” And Éowyn must have felt that long before.

“Yes. And I, too, yearned for death in battle not so long ago ...”

“Why?!” He had noticed a sadness looming over Dernhelm, back then, and still longed to know the cause. So young, so full of life, why would one wish to die?

“I have been naught but my uncle’s nurse for a long time. And even though I will not be that anymore ... I will ever be a woman, always told to stay at home and keep house.”

Faramir looked upon her with some surprise, though he knew her words to be true. “Legolas told me that you spar with the men. You are a shieldmaiden, and a rider – I thought ... I thought ... do you not have much more freedom, much more choice than a Lady of your station would have in Gondor?”

“Perhaps, in some things. It is necessity that I be able to use a sword and to ride a horse. Necessity is to be my domain. Riding for pleasure, whiling the time away with tales of great deeds, with mead and bragging, that is the domain of men. I am there to provide them with the mead and the meals, and to make sure they are cleaned up after.” There was a bitterness in her voice that he had oft heard when Dernhelm had spoken of Éowyn, and Faramir wondered why he had not understood, then, that this was more than just pity for a high and noble lady. Though perhaps it was not so strange, for he had thought Dernhelm to be related to the Lady Éowyn, and would not a brother feel his sister’s pain as keenly as his own?

The prospect of her spending her days with such drudgery so that others could be idle caused Faramir much more distress than just the thought of her marrying another. He would not see her unhappy, if there was anything he could do about it. 

“Does the sister of a king truly have so little freedom in Rohan?”

“The sister of a king, perhaps, can take such little freedoms as I have done. However, no wife nor mother would ever ... and as I have been a nurse for my ailing uncle, so I will be a nursemaid for my brother’s children, when he marries while I remain in his household.”

“You do not wish to marry.” If Dernhelm’s words had been true, not meant to soften the blow of rejection, then ...

“I do not, for it seems a prospect even bleaker than the alternative. However, such time might come when it is considered my duty.”

Faramir nodded, and made no reply for a long time, as he was lost in thought. “The wife of a Steward of Gondor would be in charge of his household, and there would be much work to be supervised there,”, he said cautiously. “But if she were to take an interest in the properties of healing herbs, and perhaps do some work in the Houses of Healing, she would be known as a generous and charitable woman.” He had noticed that Éowyn had asked Ioreth many questions, and been very interested in the books on herb-lore. “As for her taking an interest in riding and swordfighting, the gossips might stay their tongues if she was known to have slain the Witch-King.”

Éowyn turned to look at him. “You would ...?” She was surprised, but not angered. So she must have guessed his intention. 

“I would. A marriage in name only, of course, as I know you have no wish for anything else.”

“You are very generous.” Her gaze softened, and where there had been surprise, there was love now, though tinged with some lingering sadness. 

“Call me not so; I do not yet know whether I can give you what I promise. A new King might well decide he needs a new Steward.”

Éowyn took his hand in hers. “Some king might, but King Elessar will not. Moreover, he would be ill advised to do insult to the brother-in-law of Rohan’s king.”

Indeed, that he would. “That was not my intention.”

“I know it was not, my dear Faramir.” She gently squeezed his hand. “Still, I will do everything in my power to convince him of your worth, whether you marry me or not.”

“I know.” For all that she could not love him as he loved her, a true friend she was, of that he was certain. “Though I cannot see why I would not wish to marry you.” Indeed, the mere prospect of spending his life with her cheered him considerably. “However, there is something you need to know ere you promise to use your influence in my favour. He has already spoken to me.”

“He has? Has he given you reason to assume he will make another man his Steward?”

“Not as such.” Faramir sighed. “Yet he introduced himself as Strider, and did not tell me who he truly was. I fear I made a rather bad impression. As you recall, I had recently taken a blow to the head. So when he asked whether I was not worried about there being a claimer to the throne, I just said that I was more worried about my poor head, or something to that effect.”

“Oh! He should not have embarrassed you so! But worry not, I shall give him a piece of my mind when I next meet him, and though he has treated my opinion with contempt in the past, I do think he will be more willing to listen when doing so is not so averse to his own plans. The people of Gondor will support you, and he can ill afford to take the throne without your support, I should think.”

“He is the true King, else he would not have been able to use kingsfoil to such effect.”

Éowyn shook her had impatiently. “True King or no, if the people will not have him, he cannot rule.”

Faramir smiled. “I shall have to trust your words, then, as I have no experience with what kings can, or cannot do.”

“Your father was a king in all but name”, she replied softly. “I – I heard of his passing, and hope ...”

“You have not caused me any pain that I did not feel already”, he reassured her. “In truth, I do not think I have yet understood just what it means ... it all happened so fast.”

She entwined their hands, and the sympathy in her gaze was all that it took for Faramir to start crying.   
Some time later, he realized that they were kneeling on the hard ground and she had her sword arm wrapped around him, holding him while his tears wet the shoulder of her dress. 

He stood up. “Forgive me; I should not have ...” This was a compromising situation, one that might stain her reputation, or, if her brother learnt of it ...

Éowyn rose and patted his back clumsily. “I will have none of that. What I should not have done is upset you so thoughtlessly.”

“You do not understand – if anyone would have seen us - your brother would ...”

“Èomer would have kept his mouth shut. My sword arm has regained much strength, and I will not be so easily intimidated.”

“He fears for your safety.”

“Needlessly. That slimy worm, Grima, he might have been a danger, for while he is weak, he had ill intent enough. You, Faramir ... “ There was fierce affection in her gaze as she touched her hand to the side of his face. “You are not a man who would do such. Besides, you do not even desire me.”

Faramir felt much confused. “Did I not confess to have fallen in love with Dernhelm?”

She shook her head. “That you did. And is that not the best proof that you could never desire Éowyn, the woman? Did you not dream of rippled muscles, of hard and unyielding flesh touching your own? Of being pressed tight to a flat chest?”

He felt colour rise to his cheeks. Legolas was right, she had seen much more than he would have assumed. And she knew much more of the world than he did. “In truth ...”

“I should not have spoken so freely, should I? You look like a startled deer.”

“It is alright. I just ...”

“Before you come to the wrong conclusions regarding my virtue, I should perhaps tell you that I learnt all those things from watching the men spar.”

Faramir nodded. 

“I watched to learn, some older girls watched for ... the sheer enjoyment of watching. And comparing tastes.”

“Such things were not on my mind at all”, he clarified, though he was aware how implausible it must sound. “I just wished to spend more time with Dernhelm. To listen to his laughter. Enjoy, perhaps, the touch of his hand.”

“Truly? Then ...?”

“My feelings for Éowyn are much the same. Yet I would not deceive you – with time and closer acquaintance, this might ... might change.” 

Now she clasped his shoulder. “Change ... in what direction?” 

“I ...” How could he word that so that it was appropriate to say to a lady? “Into a direction that you might dislike? Considering that you never wanted to marry?”

“Marriage is a cage that I would rather not enter. However ... were I a man ... I daresay, Dernhelm would like to share his bedroll with Faramir, after time and closeness brought about such a change.”

The excess of blood somewhat drained from his face, to gather in his chest, warming him from within. “And Éowyn?”

“Éowyn should not speak of such things, it is not fit for a lady.”

“Must I spar without my shirt on, then, to know your mind?”

She laughed, and oh, how he had missed that!

“No, that would be to no avail. Just now, I quoted others; my own eyes were ever on the swords, and perhaps, the sword arms of those men. Go back to bed, Lord Faramir, and read a book, and you shall know whether my eyes be on the book, or on the candlelight as it dances on your raven hair.” Her expression was soft, and he felt himself reminded, again, that he wanted to write a poem on her eyes. 

“I know not which one to prefer, that the Lady Éowyn should find me fair, or that she should approve of my taste in books. Can I not have both?”

She only smiled in response, laid her hand on his arm and led him back to the house.


	9. Chapter 9

That evening, she made true of her promise to sit with him while he read, and as she had managed to sneak in unnoticed, they were finally able to be alone. 

Though her gaze lingered on him, and she would often peek over his shoulder to see what he was reading, he could see that she was still restless. 

“Your brother is as skilled a fighter as you”, he said softly. “And unlike you, he has little reason to wish for death on the battlefield. He will return to you.”

“I do hope he will.” She sighed. “Though while he has less reason to wish for death than I, he does not fear it, either.”

“He is brave.”

“Nay, I would not say so. You are brave, Faramir, for you love life and care not for fame, and still you rode at my side, to death and glory. And perhaps, bravest of all is Merry, for he has never expected to see battle, and would still fight where he was needed. My brother ... he was raised to expect that when he died, it would be on the battlefield. Can he be brave who knows no fear?”

“Perhaps not, but then, everyone knows fear, even if it is not fear of death.” Perhaps Éomer’s deepest fear was to see his sister harmed and not be able to protect her. Faramir hoped it was love for Éowyn, not fear of seeing his family’s honour tainted, that had caused Éomer to be so wary of him. 

“That is true. Yet maybe my brother is not brave enough to face a life wherein he is surpassed by his sister. I do not say that he will seek death, but he will seek glory, and the two are oft intertwined. And I would not do as is expected of a shieldmaiden, I would not rejoice at his glorious death, I would weep, and not be consoled.” 

“He loves you, Éowyn, in his way.” More, hopefully, than his own pride. “I am sure he will return, if only to rescue you from my clutches.”

That, at last, drew a chuckle from her. “He can no longer think so ill of you, not after the consideration you have shown, both in rushing to my side as soon as you were able to stand, and by offering to let him hear of your love for Dernhelm. Though he knows not of the latter, I did leave no doubt as to just how much of your soul you bared to me while I was in disguise.”

“You feel guilty”, Faramir realized. “There is no need. We only talked, then, and is not a woman’ ear much the same as a man`s?”

“That is so, and still – the maidens whom I quoted earlier, they would blush and be shamed to know that a man has heard their words, and I shall never mention their names to you for that very reason. Had one Dernhelm disguised himself as Éowyn -”

“Then that would have been vile indeed, for he would have done so out of mere curiosity, not out of a yearning for freedom.” He placed his book in his lap and smiled at Éowyn. “Women keep secret from men what they fear might make them the target of crude jokes and worse – yet what men only talk about when no women are present is just deemed to be offensive to the ears of a lady. And I do not feel shamed, for I never said anything to Dernhelm that I would not deem suitable to be heard by Éowyn.” In fact, there was something he felt much worse about. “Aragorn has shamed me far worse, for while I did not embarrass myself when Dernhelm asked me about the Lady Éowyn, my answers when Strider asked me about Aragorn where spoken with little thought.”

Éowyn blushed, and was silent, and Faramir keenly felt the pain he had caused her with his thoughtless words – in her mind, she had done much the same thing as Aragorn had, and perhaps that was why she was so fiercely on his side in the matter, to make amends. “It is not the same”, he said gently. “I was of sound mind, then, and a niece to the king of Rohan has little power over the son of a Steward of Gondor. Your disguise was born from a wish for such freedom as should not have been denied you in the first place, his, on the other hand – I can only assume he wished to learn my true opinion, and faster than he could have by getting to know me.”

“He might have done it for the good of all Gondor”, she said quietly. “That is honourable.”

“While you never wished to know my opinion, you only asked it to the better comfort me.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve.” She avoided his gaze as she continued. “Even then, I already envied the object of your affections, and wished to ... to expose you as no better than any other man, so that my heart would have peace.”

Faramir looked upon her, and knew she spoke not the full truth. 

“Or, perhaps, some part of me longed to hear that you felt not shamed to be like a maiden, that you would not think of Éowyn as less worthy than Dernhelm.”

That, now, was the truth, and for the first time he became aware of how it must have pained her, to hear him talk to her, one warrior to another, and feel that his courtesy and respect of her opinions were not meant for her, but just for her disguise. 

“Éowyn ...”

Just as he reached for her hand, there was a knock at the door. 

He withdrew his hand, and Éowyn sat back in her chair. 

“Shall I?” He asked, gesturing towards the door. 

She nodded, and he bade the visitor enter. 

Ioreth frowned when she saw Éowyn. “I have come to tell you that you should rest your eyes, Lord Faramir. Reading is one thing, reading in bad light is quite another.”

Obediently, he placed his book on the nightstand. 

“Lady Éowyn, let me accompany you back to your room”, the healer continued. 

That was it? No scolding for the breach of propriety? Or was that to be delivered to Éowyn as he was still considered reconvalescent and therefore to be spared anything that might agitate him?


End file.
